"Yes?"
"Incoming transmission for you, sir," said a nasal, masculine voice.
A sigh. "Can it wait?"
"Sir, it's the Doctor."
He peered around his cramped office, lit by a single lamp which he still clutched in his hand, and lined with filing cabinets and data terminals. The viewscreen on the right-hand wall came to life; a man with a deeply lined face, thinning black hair, thick eyebrows and mischievous eyes peered at him. Suddenly the room felt smaller still.
"Doctor, how may I help you?"
"Grogan," the man said with a nod, rolling his r's. "I understand a friend of mine is in your company?"
"Yes, Ace returned with some troops last night. One of them is giving her a tour of the base."
"I'm not surprised she left the TARDIS, but make sure she remains at the base." The Doctor grinned. "Her knowledge of explosives will be of use."
"Well I'll be sure to consult her on upcoming missions." Grogan took a deep breath. "Is that all, Doctor?" Only recently, the man had contacted him for the first time in nearly forty years. But he had more than made up for the prolonged silence: every other day a status report, a change of plans, a favour request, a word of encouragement--always over the viewscreen. Always at the apex of concentration in Grogan's strategic planning.
"Yes, the Morestran ambassador's shuttle has arrived. A Church representative will arrive tomorrow morning, followed by a day of negotiations at the Capitol."
"Thank you for the update. Now if you don't mind . . ."
The Doctor frowned; his scrutinizing eyes bore into Grogan. "It's imperative that your next mission be timed perfectly. Hereon in, there is little room for error. Unnecessary bloodshed is no way to bring in a new era on Tranta."
The viewscreen faded to black.
Grogan released his grip on the lamp and straightened out the files on his desk. "You try my patience, Doctor," the rebel leader mumbled. "The longer we take to carry out this masterplan of yours, the quicker Rixx and Stimms wise up to our actions."
He returned his attention to the reports and transcripts, struggling to find that seed of concentration once more.
"You don't care for you food?"
"Who makes it--Gerber?"
"No, Gerald, the galley cook. He does wonders with so little."
Ace lowered her eyes. "I was kidding." She gathered a spoonful of green paste and took a bite. It took all her effort not to cringe.
"Well, except spinach." Ikuko chuckled.
Ace pushed the tray aside and glanced around. Row upon row of empty tables, with the odd male or female sitting alone and eating in silent contemplation. Looking left, an expanse of ebony and twinkling diamonds filled the vast galley window. In the foreground, a planet resembling Jupiter, but with swirling storms of violet and azure.
"Wicked view."
"That's Antuath," said Ikuko. "See those asteroids? We're sitting on one just like them, orbiting the planet."
Ace peered at the rocky clusters. "Where's Tranta?"
"Right now? On the opposite side of the planet."
"Well, this view alone made the tour worthwhile," Ace said. "Not the most impressive headquarters."
"We don't wish to bring attention to ourselves. From space, our base looks like all the other abandoned relay collectors." Ikuko pointed at the asteroids.
"Relay collectors?"
"The Corporation set them up on asteroids right around the planet. Operating as a collective, they absorb artron energy from Antuath."
"Did they break down?"
"No, the Corporation abandoned them after they built Tranta. The Morestrans helped them design it. Far more powerful. It can change its orbital path, in search of high energy concentrations."
"You seem to know a lot." Ace smiled.
Ikuko blushed. "I'm an electronics engineer. Those portable transmat devices--I helped design them."
Ace rubbed her forehead. "So I have you to blame?"
"You'll get used to the headaches."
A bell chimed. Ikuko and the others in the room stood instinctively. Raising an eyebrow, Ace followed suit.
"Attention, all rebel troops." Ace recognized Grogan's commanding voice. "Assemble in the conference room in five minutes for debriefing."
Another chime, and Ikuko led Ace out into the hallway with the others. They walked briskly past featureless grey walls and narrow doors.
"Think they spotted a Corporation ship?" Ace asked.
"Unlikely. There hasn't been a Corporation scout vessel sighting in decades," Ikuko said as they rounded a corner. "All our leader's attention is focused on Tranta these days."
Typing away frantically at his data terminal, Prentis imported saved reports, cut and pasted charts, scanned in diagrams, and filled in blanks with random facts his mind had amassed after years of research. Suddenly his fingers stopped. At rest on the keyboard, they twitched over home row. He picked up a large mug and took several sips of tea. Glancing back at the monitor, he frowned.
Nothing. What exactly was he doing? Creating a useless, hodgepodge of a report. He glanced at his watch: half past midnight. The rocket was set to depart from spaceport in six hours. The lines of text on the monitor burned into his retinas. He felt giddy and nauseous; the tea jarred his nerves and battled rising bile.
He sighed and stood up from his desk. Pacing back and forth in the rectory, he kicked the piles of notes and watched the rainfall of paper sheets in the lamplight with wild eyes. God, what am I to do? he thought in prayer. I am grateful for this opportunity to represent the Church, but the responsibility has turned me into a wreck. He managed a defeated grin. Surely, if given the chance, the Shly-Ka could defend their own cause?
A clangor and footfalls caught his attention. He peered out the window, but spotted nothing in the moonlight. The tree branch before him trembled in the breeze. The room was silent, save for the hum of the data terminal and his racing pulse.
Thump.
Prentis leapt across the room and put his ear to the door. A series of whispers--or was it the wind? He glanced back at the dull glow of the monitor. The report could wait. Besides, wasn't he due for a break? He retrieved a flashlight from his bedroom dresser and returned to the door. He delicately unfastened the latch and, holding his breath, he pushed the door open a crack. A cold breeze in the stairwell met his face as he peered into pitch black. With a flick of the thumb, the flashlight came to life and caused the shadows beyond to recoil. The light picked out concrete steps and bare walls.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the door open just enough to slip into the stairwell. His light steps caused a muffled echo off the walls. Reaching the base, he put his ear to the door to the front lobby. There was a quiet moan of wind outside and a whistling draft. He pushed his way into the lobby, the flashlight held firmly in his outstretched arm. Shadows fled around corners, under tables and into cracks. In the main hall, the flashlight highlighted empty pews and pulpit.
Prentis smiled. Afraid of a bump in the night, a whisper in the trees, he thought. On a whim, he crouched down and shone the light underneath the pews. No crawling youths in sight. How many times had he raced other children his age the length of the room, to the dismay of his reverend father? He rubbed phantom rug burns on his knees before getting up and returning to the stairwell.
Groan!
He dropped the flashlight and stifled a yell. Shadows swayed over the concrete steps. Another long groan. Prentis took a deep breath and smiled. The noise came from the stables: the Outat they had stunned earlier. The young reverend chuckled as he retrieved the flashlight and climbed the stairs to the rectory. He sat back at his desk and put on headphones.
A blinking light awaited him on the data terminal: an incoming transmission alert. He pressed a key to open the file. Prentis' jaw dropped. The document was a seventy-page report entitled "Tranta: A Spiritually Sound Future." The author, himself. The origin of the transmission was encrypted. He scrolled through formatted text, diagrams and charts, to the bibliography at the end of the report. It cited most of the historical texts, political minutes, survey charts and operations records he had studied in the past few years.
Head in shock and ears full of choral hymns, Prentis missed the whispers emanating through floor vents, leading to the basement.
In a cramped conference room, Ace and Ikuko sat at a table with a dozen other men and women in black fatigues. At the head of the table, before a viewscreen, stood Grogan.
"Let's begin the debriefing," he announced. The chatter and whispers ceased. "An ambassador to the Morestran Empire has arrived on Tranta and is staying at the Capitol. A Church representative flies in tomorrow morning, followed by a day of negotiations."
A viewscreen came to life behind him, showing an image of a sleek rocket affixed to Tranta's docking bay and an inset image of a middle-aged, stern-faced woman.
"Our mission tonight: destroy the Ambassador's shuttle."
Whispers rose around the table.
"And tomorrow, take the Ambassador hostage."
Silence.
Grogan studied the faces of his audience. Ace kept her eyes on the tabletop. "By destroying the rocket, we ensure that the Ambassador remains on Tranta. The city's transmat devices are limited to travel within this solar system."
"But by taking the Ambassador hostage, a Morestran fleet will surely intervene?" said the dark-skinned man whom Ace recognized from the sewers.
Grogan smiled. "And if Rixx wants to maintain peaceful relations with the Empire and independence for Tranta, he will have no choice but to hear out our demands."
"Will there be many guards posted at the shuttle?" asked a blonde woman.
"Several," said Grogan, "but we can deal with them. Our city operatives will deal with the security probes and delay reinforcements by jamming guard communications."
"How do you propose to destroy the rocket?" asked Ikuko.
"Let's discuss that." Grogan turned his gaze on Ace. "The Doctor has kindly supplied us with an explosives expert. Your suggestions, Ace?"
All eyes were on her. She blushed and glanced down at her fingers. Thanks a bunch, Professor, she thought. She looked up at the viewscreen and studied the docking bay.
"Um, we'll need more Nitro-nine for starters."
Staring into the azure glow, Stimms watched the twisting, branching dance of biomolecular computer strands. Surrounding photonic circuits produced sparkling bursts, reacting to subtle motions of the strands and keeping a complex beat. An attentive audience, he tuned out the mix of voices filling Central Control. His hand picked up the coronet from the armrest and placed it on his head.
"Identity confirmed: Security Chief Stimms." The booming female voice of the Intelligence steered his attention away from the spectacle. "How may I help you?"
A rare opportunity: a night without Rixx at Central Control. How long had it been since the Controller's last sleep break--a week? a month? He wanted to be wide-awake mentally for negotiations with the Ambassador tomorrow; Stimms couldn't blame him. Responding to the woman's room service calls were irritating enough, never mind a day of heated talks.
"I wish to devote more time to my duties, to improve my concentration," Stimms spoke into the air. "What sort of program of drug stimulants has the Controller prescribed for himself?"
"That information is classified."
He rubbed his chin. "If I assumed the Controller's duties, if my health condition matched his own and if I took the drugs he did, how long could I expect to live?"
"Six months to a year," said the Intelligence.
Stimms grinned. "And if, as Controller of Tranta, I should die, what then?"
"You are not Controller of Tranta."
"If I were Controller and died, who would succeed me?" Stimms sighed.
"That information is classified."
"Oh, forget it. Let's test the new security upgrades to satellite communications."
"Systems successfully compiled with upgrades." A holographic readout screen appeared before him. "Please enter a test case."
Stimms tapped at the keypad in the armrest then paused. "Why don't you suggest a test case. Choose a message sent from the Capitol in the past hour."
The other voices reported statuses, repeated commands and uttered random figures while a message was chosen. A list of message subject headings appeared on the readout screen; the Intelligence scrolled down and paused momentarily on each.
"Message selected," reported the female voice. "Sent fifteen minutes ago. Heavily encoded."
"Decrypt it. Factor large prime numbers."
A pause. "Unknown encryption key."
"Try fractal decryption," Stimms said.
A longer pause. "Minimal decryption."
Stimms studied the readout screen: for the most part random characters and digits. He rubbed his chin, focusing on a few groups of letters. Using the keypad, he highlighted two groups of letters. "What's the probability these words are 'ambassador' and 'rocket'?"
"Seventy-five percent."
"Good enough for me." He removed the coronet and exited the chamber. In the bare hallway, he tapped his wristwatch. It crackled to life.
"Sir?" said a distorted voice.
Stimms stared at the device a moment and fiddled a dial on the back. "Assemble a patrol and have them meet me at my office. And have someone fix this channel."
Wincing from another headache, Ace stepped off the portable transmat device and joined the dozen other rebels in the alleyway. The amber glow of streetlights filled either entrance and created a haze over the night sky. Ikuko appeared on the terminal and joined Ace.
"Some utopia," Ace whispered. "All I've seen are alleyways and sewers."
"When Rixx finally agrees to meet our demands, I'll give you the grand tour." Ikuko snickered.
Footfalls came from up the street. Everyone found cover, crouching behind crates or lying in the prone position with weapons aimed. As a shadow appeared in the entrance, the dark-skinned man's communicator beeped.
"Hold your fire," he whispered.
Two figures in rebel fatigues entered the alleyway: a tall woman with red hair tied in a ponytail and a stout, balding man.
"It's just us, Samuels," said the man. The group rose from their cover with a collective sigh. Samuels took the man aside, while the woman approached Ikuko and Ace.
"Hi Elsa, everything ready?" Ikuko asked.
"Security transmissions are being jammed and probes at the docking bay have been disabled." She looked Ace up and down. "Who's your friend?"
"This is Ace. She saved my life last mission." Ikuko smiled at Ace.
Elsa smiled too. "Then she's a friend of mine as well."
"All right," announced Samuels, "it's time people." He sent a group to each entrance; they went on ahead to provide covering fire. "The rest, with me."
The remaining group dashed over roads from alleyway to alleyway. Rebels in the lead targeted security probes at rest, their systems jammed. The group only paused momentarily for wayward footfalls--usually a worker returning home or a street cleaner. Buildings and streetlights eventually thinned out and opened onto a field of darkness. Ace took a deep breath; the air was refreshingly cool here. In the distance, between dome support beams, stood the brightly lit gateway to the docking bay.
"Our target, people, lies beyond that gateway," Samuels whispered. "Take a minute to check your gear and catch your breath."
Ace patted her rucksack, feeling the canisters inside. Why aren't you here, keeping me out of trouble, Professor? she thought. Looking into the faces of the others, staring keenly at the gateway beyond, she wondered what she had got herself into. Could she trust this band of expatriates? Had Grogan spoon-fed them propaganda since childhood, like the kids in the play?
While Ikuko adjusted some handheld devices and replaced them in her rucksack, Ace crouched down beside Elsa.
"Do you live on Tranta?"
Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Yes, and you?"
"It's a long story." Ace glanced back at the buildings and streetlights. "I've never seen Tranta by day. What's it like?"
"Lots of skyscrapers surrounding the Capitol. Industrial sectors are pretty drab," Elsa said and looked ahead. "But the fields and gardens at the outskirts, around the support beams, are peaceful. And the sky is beautiful, especially at sunset. It's a hologram, but it's still breathtaking."
"Are you happy living here?"
"For the most part."
Ace looked at her. "Then why do you fight?"
"You haven't been a rebel long, have you?" Elsa gave her a half-smile.
"Is Rixx some kind of tyrant? Burns books, enforces eighteen-hour work days, puts a tax on breathing?"
The woman furrowed her brows. "What? No, far from it."
"What's this all about then--for you at least?" Ace fiddled with the straps on her rucksack.
Elsa thought a moment. "I can't dream for myself. We all work for the good of Tranta. All our creativity, our hopes, our talents--we're expected to channel them into maintaining the utopia Rixx has created. Realizing his dream."
Ace smiled. "What's your dream?"
"To see what lies beyond," Elsa whispered. "Ever since I was a child, all I've known is Tranta. One and a half million citizens and the occasional visiting Morestran vessel--that's the population of my reality. I've been raised to believe we're surrounded by chaos and that all we need is here. But I'm no longer a child. I need to discover things for myself."
"I know how you feel," Ace said, a twinkle in her eye. "Travel the stars, expand your horizons. A person would be hard-pressed to keep me in one place long."
"Grogan promises to re-establish contact with other worlds, former trade partners. I don't think I'll be truly happy until I've seen those worlds . . . and maybe others."
"Grab your gear, everyone," said Samuels. "It's time."
The two groups which Samuels had picked out earlier ran ahead into the darkness. A moment later, Ace and the others followed suit, running through lush grass and past silhouettes of bare trees. Halfway to the gateway, a firefight broke out as the guards detected their approach. Ace winced as the rebels around her fired their machine guns, while the guards returned a volley of staser fire. Bullets pelted off the guards' shields and the gateway. With the other rebels providing covering fire, Samuels, Ace, Ikuko and Elsa dashed into the alcove beside the gateway.
Ikuko produced a handheld device from her rucksack and affixed it to the side of the gateway. Tapping a sequence of buttons, the gateway replied with loud clicks and groans before sliding open a few feet. Staser fire whizzing around them, the group fled inside in single file. Ace found herself in a transparent tunnel extending from the exterior of the city to another gateway affixed to the Ambassador's rocket. She leaned against the tunnel wall, recovering her breath.
Samuels stood beside her. "You all right?"
"Just--just a bit overwhelmed."
He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Time to work your magic."
She nodded, opened her rucksack and held it out to Elsa, who grabbed two canisters. Ace grabbed another two and they approached the gateway to the rocket. While they affixed the canisters to the docking clamp fixtures, Ikuko produced another handheld device, tapped a few keys and triggered the gateway to open. She disappeared inside the rocket, while Ace and Elsa wired the fuses to the Nitro-nine canisters. Muffled thuds and whines from the firefight outside filled the tunnel.
Ikuko slipped back into the tunnel. "We've got a minute--let's go!"
The canisters glowed green as Ace and Elsa twisted their tops. Single file, the group fled out of the tunnel; the gateway closed shut behind Ikuko at the tap of a button. The rebels fled from the gateway into the darkness of the field, the guards hot on their trail. Staser fire whizzing past her, Ace's lungs burned and muscles ached as she struggled to keep up. With a flash, an explosion ripped through the air, causing a bulge in the gateway. The rocket and fragments of the tunnel floated away from the city. Another flash and the rocket self-destructed. Scraps of glass and metal bounced off the exterior of the dome.
Halfway across the field, waves of guards poured out from the alleyways and trained their weapons on the rebels.
"The transmat! Set up the transmat!" yelled Samuels.
The rebel carrying the portable transmat device threw it down and keyed in the operating sequence. The four metal staffs lit up as they extended. One by one, the rebels stepped within the staffs and disappeared. Samuels ushered Ikuko into the transmat and provided covering fire for Elsa and Ace.
A staserbolt hit Elsa in the back and she collapsed. On her way by, Ace grabbed the woman by the arms and dragged her along.
"Go on, I've got her!" Ace yelled to Samuels.
Nearing the transmat, Ace tripped and fell face first. Shaking her head, she spit out a mouthful of grass and propped herself up. A guard grabbed her ankle and yanked her towards him. She kicked him in the shins and brought him down. Another guard grabbed Ace by the jacket. Reaching into her pocket, she sprayed him with a tube of mace and he released his grip with a scream.
Her eyes stinging, Ace crawled between the staffs just as staser fire hit the device. For a split second, her form flickered and distorted in the darkness, before disappearing with a flash.
"I've lost her signal, sir."
Grogan pushed the operator aside and adjusted dials on the control console to maximum amplification. A shadow flickered briefly above the transmat platform before diffusing. "Damn!" He slammed a fist on the console.
"The portable transmat device isn't responding, sir," said the female operator.
"I know that!" He shut his eyes and sighed. In a calmer voice, he added, "Please prepare the remaining back-up device."
"Right away, sir."
Grogan exited the room and marched to his office, ignoring the dejected faces that greeted him in the corridors. In his office, he slumped down in his desk chair and tapped the intercom.
"Sir?"
"Get me the Doctor." Grogan covered his face with his hands. Although he had outwitted Tranta's Security Chief on numerous occasions, the man learned fast and never made the same mistake twice. Little surprise then, Grogan thought, that Stimms had intercepted their communications with Tranta operatives.
The viewscreen came to life, with the Doctor staring intently at him. "Grogan?"
"Doctor." He forced a polite smile. "How goes your meeting with the Morestrans?"
"We've adjourned till later. And the mission?"
Grogan hesitated. "A success for the most part. The Ambassador's rocket was destroyed and we will take her hostage tomorrow."
The Doctor frowned. "But . . ."
"But we've lost another portable transmat device and a Tranta operative was captured."
"And Ace?"
"Her knowledge of explosives was most useful." Inadvertently, his hand gripped the desk lamp.
"She made it back all right?"
"Yes, she's with the others."
A moment of silence.
"Doctor," Grogan said, "I'm growing impatient. Stimms is quickly anticipating our actions and these missions of diversion are putting a strain on resources."
"Once again, I ask that you trust me, Grogan," said the Doctor. "The negotiations between Rixx, the Ambassador and the Church representative must go ahead."
"I'm uncomfortable with how much say you're allowing the Morestrans to have in these matters."
"Hmmm . . ." The Doctor rubbed his lip. "But to re-establish a Union on Tranta to succeed Rixx--"
"To replace him."
"Yes, either way, you need the Morestrans in your corner. With their military forces, you can gain the upper hand. And as long as they receive their energy shipments, Empire officials don't care who's in power. We can then look into getting the Shly-Ka home."
"Doctor, we're running out of time."
"Don't I know it."
The transmission ended.
Time was no object, the Doctor once told Grogan. The man promised to settle this decades-long dispute, to make things right again. But resources and manpower were reaching an uncomfortable low. Assurances to "have faith" were no longer enough. Funny, Grogan thought, that time had taken its toll on everyone involved except the Doctor. No object, indeed.
Cold.
Cold and numb. A twitch of a cheek, a finger. Pain that seared nerves with the slightest movement. Parched throat. Eyelids parted a crack. A dull glow swirling in shadow. A hiss. Fingertips touched soft, fibrous texture. Grass, in the field? No. She traced tiny circles. Wool, maybe. She arched her neck to see, only to stifle a yell and grit her teeth. Her neck muscles throbbed in pain. A headache burned synapses in her forehead.
The field. She remembered running through a field. Her pulse racing. Others running with her, breathing heavily. A loud rattle and whiffs of gunpowder. Machine guns. Tiny streams of light whizzing at her and from behind. A woman with red hair falling before her. The grass, the trees, the shadows distorting around her. Her entire nervous system pulsating, contracting. A blinding flash.
So cold. Where was she? Another hiss. She opened an eye and swirling shadow gave way to glistening rock. A cavern. Straining her eye, she noticed a white light emanating from a rock formation nearby. The hissing came from a black arachnid crawling up her arm. Both her eyes opened wide.
A scaly claw grabbed the creature and lifted it from view. She heard a series of chirrups, a tiny squeal and crunching noises.
"I hope my meal did not frighten you," whispered a voice in clipped tones. A small figure in white robes stepped into Ace's view. A cowl overshadowed its face. Two tiny braids of black hair dangled from the hidden visage; silver rings, tied to the end of either braid, bounced off the figure's chest.
Ace opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a feeble squawk.
The figure retrieved an earthenware mug from a nearby table and put it to her lips. Cold water tingled down her throat. She attempted to grab hold of the mug, but her arm remained limp. When she had finished, the figure took the mug away. She strained her eyes to look around the cavern. No human bones about, she thought; think that's a good sign I'm not on the dessert menu.
"What happened?" Ace muttered with a raspy voice.
The figure returned to her side. "You fell. I saw you appear at the top of the gully outside, stumble and fall down the embankment. Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises though."
"I can barely move. And my head's pounding."
"A scrambled transmat signal." It chirruped. "Such problematic technology; you are lucky to be alive."
Ace's forehead throbbed in agreement. "Who are you?"
"I am the Keeper."
Before she could question the stranger further, a wave of dizziness swept over Ace. She struggled to keep her eyelids open. She also felt deep hunger pains. "Do you have anything to eat?"
The Keeper retrieved a bowl from a table and stirred its contents. Tipping the bowl into view, the Keeper produced a spoonful of hissing, peanut-sized beetles. She felt them twitch against her lips. Flinching, Ace felt the dizziness climax and fell unconscious.
"Antuath is in view now--right there." The Elder pointed out a blue-violet speck from the cockpit window. "I feel its presence as well."
"Wish I were bringing you home for good," Prentis said.
The Elder sat quietly in the seat beside him, tracing its claw along the armrest. The hum of the engines filled the cockpit, while the computer kept track of their course.
"Can't believe this day has finally come. It's a miracle my report was finished in time, too."
"An impressive feat, Prentis. You have been poring over it for many months."
Prentis smiled. "Divine intervention, I guess."
The Elder stared ahead. "I hope your presentation is successful. Then all Shly-Ka will see Antuath from this close up once again, not just myself."
Prentis stared ahead as well.
"Long ago, before they founded their Empire, the Morestrans passed through this solar system." The Elder chirruped. "But we shielded Antuath from their ships' detection systems."
"You shielded Antuath?"
"There were many more of us then. With our symbiosis with the planet, we were capable of great things."
The young reverend turned his attention to his companion. "And the Corporation?"
"Nearly a century ago, the Mining Corporation acquired alien probes capable of penetrating our defences. Scout vessels soon arrived, but we refused them the right to collect any of Antuath's artron energy."
"Did they go to the Morestrans for help?"
"No, the Corporation acquired a weapon of mass destruction, which they threatened to use on Antuath if we refused their demands. So we gave in. But that was not enough for them. To build their relay collectors, they removed us from our lunar sanctuaries. Several Shly-Ka were relocated to Corporation headquarters for testing, while your Church adopted the rest." The Elder chirruped. "In exchange, the Empire was granted a share of the energy."
Prentis sighed. "And I will do all I can to get you and the other Gardeners home."
The piloting system beeped.
"We're altering course to Tranta's secondary docking bay," the reverend remarked.
Antuath's swirling atmosphere gradually filled half the window, casting a purplish hue on the cockpit interior and its occupants. Rounding the planet, Tranta came into view: a jellyfish in an ocean of stars. Lights twinkled within the transparent dome, supported by arched beams, while an array of monitoring antennas, orbital stabilizers and energy collectors descended from the city's base.
The piloting system beeped again as it initiated docking procedures.
The Elder chirruped. "If you do not mind, Prentis, I wish to remain with the rocket while you conduct negotiations."
"I was hoping to have you sit with me," Prentis said. "Maybe make a few comments to Rixx."
"It is a generous offer, but I wish to avoid confrontation."